


Unconditional

by ShayLynnD



Category: Lancer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShayLynnD/pseuds/ShayLynnD
Summary: Johnny deals with an enemy from the past during his early days at Lancer.
Relationships: Johnny Lancer - Relationship, Murdoch Lancer - Relationship, Scott Lancer - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> Unconditional was re-edited September 2020

Unconditional  
By Sherry Dancy

The sun warmed the back of John Lancer’s neck as he closed the gate on his morning’s work. Dust boiled up from the corral as nervous horses swirled, stomped, and snorted. A stallion and four mares; some of the best horseflesh in the San Joaquin Valley, and they belonged to him, a third of them anyway. 

Still didn’t seem real, and maybe this wasn’t. A chill crawled down Johnny’s spine, washing away the California heat. Downing his head, thoughts drew him to that night. The one that determined his life as that of a gunfighter and haunted his dreams for a future.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Johnny wrapped his arms around himself. Dry, hot days defined the meager village, but an icy shiver passed through his body as he waited, pressing his face close to the wall. The wood rubbed roughly on his cheek, but he could make out the darkening street through a crack in the pitted planks of the tumbledown house. Please, Mama. Hurry home. 

His tummy rumbled. Hunger made his belly ache. Needing something to eat, he pulled open a sack left on the table and checked for a morsel of something to quiet the grumbles of his stomach. A few crumbs remained, and he stuffed them in his mouth. Still starving, he wished he’d taken a chance and stolen the bread in the market. 

Sounds of drunken laughter interrupted his thoughts. Johnny peered through the crack again, barely able to tell the street from the shadows. She wasn’t alone. “No, Mama, no,” he whispered. Should he run out? Should he hide?

His mother giggled, hanging on a large guy with a low-strapped gun. She cooed, “Come with me; we will have much fun.” The couple stumbled into the doorway. Johnny stayed in the shadows and tried not to watch as they groped and kissed their way inside. He toed backward out of their path and slipped toward the darkest edge of the small dwelling. 

The big hombre pressed himself against his Mama. He grabbed her, rubbed his hands over her, and made crude grunting noises. Embarrassed, Johnny scooted back further into his hiding place. 

They laughed. The kisses and disgusting tones continued until they fell onto the table. Something banged down with them, rolling off and right at Johnny, stopping next to his foot. 

The bastardo pushed up his Mama’s skirt. Johnny wished to disappear until he might sneak outside. As he twisted further into the dark, he bumped the bottle on the floor. No, no, no, Dios, don’t let him hear.

The man stopped when the noise disturbed his carousing. He drew his gun and came striding across the room. Making out the disturbance to be a boy, he cocked his head and holstered the firearm. His liquored breath was sour on Johnny’s face when he grabbed him by his arm. 

Spitting in disgust when Johnny fought, he used a steel grasp and jerked him up. A jolt of agony rammed through his body when the wall slammed into him. Then the Gringo picked him up and threw him to the floor. 

Pointing at Johnny, he growled, “What the hell is that?” Looking at his Mama for an answer, the man stomped toward him again before he could get up. 

“No, no, por favor, offer him no notice!” Johnny heard her beg as powerful fingers squeezed his arms, bringing him more pain. He stared into hard, black eyes.

Then the Gringo loosened his grip and shook his head as if to clear it. He kicked him with a solid blow connecting with Johnny’s upper thigh, then grabbed an arm and hurled him at the table. The momentum jerked his shoulder, and the anguish caused the room to spin as he struggled to stand. 

“Mi Amor, mi Amor, pay him no mind.” She pulled his arm and tried to caress his neck.

His mother must have been trying to calm the situation. She moved between the two of them and pushed him to the door and out of the tiny hut. 

“Largate! Go!” She hissed at him and then in English for the Gringo. “Do not come back.” 

Johnny wiped the blood off his lip and stumbled out. The hair on his neck stood up as he left, and he hesitated, wanting to stay, but his mother shook her head, so he stumbled out into the night, leaving her there with the evil bastardo.

Limping, he managed the short distance to the horse-trough next to their house. With his uninjured arm he splashed water on his face. The beating left him with shoulder, leg, and head injuries; and whether the ache in his belly was from being hit or hunger pangs didn’t matter.

He remained close to listen but wished he couldn’t hear the hushed voices of laughing and other things. Johnny slipped to the ground and leaned against the hitching post. 

The noise from the hut got louder. His Mama yelled. He heard slapping, a crash, stifled screams, “No, Gray, No...” 

Johnny staggered up, ignored the injuries, and forced his legs to move. Banging the door open, he saw flickering lamp lights, glowing orange on his mother’s partly naked body. Blood ran down the side of her face. Her pupils dilated with panic and fear as she begged, “Stop, por favor, you are hurting me.” 

She jerked loose, made a rush to nowhere, and backed up as the man came at her. His Mama threw her hands up to ward off blows. 

“Bitch, you NEVER tell me what you will or will not do!” The guy punched her in the gut. 

His mother grunted, bent double, and before Johnny could get to them, he kicked her legs. Black pupils glittered in rage as the bastardo rammed his fist against her head. 

CRACK! 

Everything stopped when she hit the wall. Her limp body slid to the floor. 

“Mama, no!” Johnny screamed and launched himself onto the Gringo’s back. “I’ll kill you!” He pummeled him with a fist, then grabbed at his eyes and gouged in with his fingers, desperate to hurt, do any damage possible to the evil being who beat his Mother. 

“You will never kill me, you little greaser.” 

Johnny’s body slammed on to the dirty tiles—pain flared. 

A boot struck his abdomen, “How’s that feel?” 

His surroundings changed to deep purple. He couldn’t breathe. Another kick, a cracking blow, brought blinding anguish to his ribs. Roaring in his ears, confused his senses all the more before darkness enveloped his world. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

He heard voices, felt a suffering pain; there was a coppery smell of blood; people kept handling him; he knew heat, cold, and nothing made sense. Then the village priest—he kept hanging over him. 

“Mama?” Other people had hovered around him, but where was his mother?

“Juan, your mother is dead, lo siento.” The old priest made the sign of the Cross.

“Where is she?” His Mama couldn’t be dead.

Father Florian held out a cup of water. “Rest for now. We will talk soon.”

“No, No, I want to see Mama.”

“My son, your mother is dead. You understand, ella esta muerta.”

Johnny heard the priest’s words for truth; knew the moment death had happened. But a world without Mama; one moment, living, the next gone—this was hard to accept. He wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Homelessness. Hunger. Hate. Johnny’s experiences motivated him to hone skills to destroy those responsible for his situation. He targeted two men for revenge. Gray Hays ripped his mother from him, and Murdoch Lancer kicked them into a world of poverty and abuse.

As Johnny grew, his anger and vengeance multiplied. He decided to be a pistolero, and he stole a six-shooter, holster, and ammunition, then rode a borrowed horse two days into the desert, to practice and perfect his fast-draw. It was a revelation; he knew he’d be best—when he fired the first bullet. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

He stared at his hands, those of a gunfighter. Callouses bore testimony of using a gun as a professional. Evidence of his trade, a piece of Madrid; Johnny Madrid, an image he’d created and perfected to exact revenge.

By the time he turned sixteen, people knew his name. Another year passed when he found Hayes with new lines on his face. But it was the face seared on his brain like a brand, the one that awakened him sweating and yelling from nightmares. 

He saw him in a cantina near El Tapiro. Johnny’d started on a bowl of frijoles when Hayes walked in. For an instant, he froze. Pulling himself together, he watched him walk by to slump into a corner seat next to the small kitchen. 

The cook’s clanging pots and loud Spanish grew muted to Johnny’s ears. Other sounds slipped away, and he focused his senses only on Gray Hayes. 

A calm washed over him as he stood, kicked back his chair, and made his way to Gray’s table. Customers scattered from the two men. Johnny remained unaware of anyone or anything but the goal sitting before him. 

Hayes looked up, visibly startled, and his dark eyes went feral. At first, he was twitchy, acted rattled, but seemed to gain confidence as he looked Johnny up and down. He curled his lip and slouched back down as if he had no worries. 

“Boy, you want something from me? I mean, I can give you a peso or two to pay for yer beans, but you need to do yer beggin’ in the street,” Hayes laughed a little too loud and looked around the room.

Johnny nailed him with a deadly stare that cut off his laugh. Hayes scooted up in his seat, almost coming to attention as Madrid started a slow smile and spoke in a soft, almost gentle voice. “We’ll see who’s beggin’ when this dance is over. Whenever you’re ready, Gray.” 

“Do I know you?” Hayes cocked his head, shifted in his seat, and moved his hand to the table’s back. Johnny could see he was clearing a path for his gun. 

“I know you. You killed Mama—I’m gonna kill you, you ...” Johnny never finished. Hayes went for his gun—Johnny drew and fired twice. The first bullet slammed the gun from Gray’s hand, and the second one rammed Hayes in the gut. 

Everything went quiet. No one moved—no one spoke. Blood bloomed on Hayes’ dirty shirt, and as drops flowed to the floor, he slipped downward. His hands filled with blood as he held them to his belly. 

“Help me. Someone, help me, please,” Gray’s panicked plea broke the silence.

Johnny closed the space between them. He moved close to the dying man’s ear. “Who’s begging now?” He whispered. 

Johnny stared for a beat, left the cantina, and galloped away. 

He rode hard, not thinking as the wind struck him and cleansed him. It lifted the pain, hurt, and guilt—long enough for him to cope. He didn’t stop until he could process what happened and breathe at the same time. 

“Water.” His first coherent thought. Hearing the rush of a stream, he slowed his mount, pulled up by the creek, and slid off the horse. 

Johnny leaned on the saddle until his legs steadied. Taking a step, the landscape spun; he felt his belly turn sour. His knees hit the dirt, and he lost the contents of his stomach. He was sure he’d emptied his miserable life on the ground. 

A crow cawed and seemed to laugh at him when he struggled to his feet and stumbled to the stream. He splashed his face with the icy water, which helped slow his racing heart and soothe his nerves. He fell back from the current, drew his knees up, and sat on a flat rock. Johnny ran trembling fingers through his hair, and with a sharp eye, surveyed the surroundings. He made camp. 

The simple routine of starting a fire and laying out his bedroll calmed him; he needed that to gather his wits. After preparing coffee with shaky hands, he drank. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks. What was wrong with him? Was this for Mama? Because of killing Hayes? What had he become? He drew his gun out and looked at it. With a trembling hand, he lifted the barrel and placed it in his mouth. He held it there and thought it best to end it all. 

Who would care? Murdoch Lancer wouldn’t. No! He removed the pistol, placed it in his lap, wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. I will live, if only to kill the man who kicked us out. Then it WON’T matter. Then I’ll eat a bullet and put an end to my misery.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Johnny shuddered, remembering the dark path of destruction he had traveled. He’d worked as a hired killer; seen events that turned his stomach inside out. Johnny Madrid, his own creation, became more and more dangerous, and he hated it all. 

He tried to do some good. Most times thinking with his heart got him in trouble. Sure happened when Mexican Rurales captured him. Helping some poor folks in Mexico, and he ended up facing a firing squad. 

On his knees, next in line, he remembered having one regret. The bullet with Murdoch Lancer’s name on it remained in his gun. He’d be leaving this world while his father who’d ruined his life still lived.

As he stood to take his turn to face his last moment on Earth, everything changed. Saved at the last minute by the very person he’d vowed to destroy. An angel in the form of a Pinkerton agent rolled up in a wagon. “I’m looking for a man named Madrid, Johnny Madrid.” 

“I’m Madrid,” Johnny answered and watched as the Rurales were paid off. He saw the soldiers’ greedy looks as the man pulled bills out of his wallet. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“I’m a Pinkerton Agent. Your father wants to see you. Willing to give you a thousand dollars for an hour of your time.”

“Lancer?” Johnny grabbed the Pinkerton’s weapon when he heard someone yell, “Fire.” Bullets were flying as he shot Mexican soldiers, leaped on a saddled horse, and headed north.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

So here he was, trying to figure this mess out. From what Johnny could put together, Murdoch had searched for him since he was two. All these years, he’d looked for him. 

Even Teresa said Mama ran off with a gambler. Seemed right, too. Johnny remembered a poker player. He would sit on Mama’s lap, watch him shuffle, and spread the cards. It all added up. But that meant Murdoch never threw them off the ranch as she claimed. 

His mother had lied to him. He’d endured a broken life because of lies. And he didn’t know of a single way this side of Hell he could undo any of it. 

How to make up for his past? He couldn’t tell his family about it. They would never forgive him. Settle down? Own a third of this ranch? This new life offered to him; Johnny wanted it to be real.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Johnny white-knuckled the top fence rail. Holding on, he stepped backward and bowed his head between his outstretched arms. He did not wish to consider what they would do if they learned about his history.

Here, his father was giving him a home, a haven from all the bad in his way of living. And he offered him a family; a ‘sort of’ sister, his father’s ward and a brother. And oh boy, what a brother! Harvard educated, an officer in the Calvary, blond, good-looking, and polite; he was Murdoch’s perfect son; just the opposite of him. 

Mama had to have known about him, his big brother. Thinking back on his time with her, did his mother even deserve his love? Painful to think it. And yeah, he still loved her. But considering what had become of him, he wasn’t so clear about any of it. 

Uncertain if he could stay here, or should leave. Not positive if he desired to live or if he wanted to die. 

He cared about these people, had fought for them, took a bullet for this land. If only it had ended when Pardee shot him. Everything would be so much easier.

But now he had hard decisions to carry out, either disappear or tell them about his past, so they could decide about him being part of Lancer. If he stayed, they should know enough to make an informed decision about having him here. 

He had to face it, though; once they knew details of his life as a gunfighter, the orders would be for him to hit the road. For now, he’d break these horses and try to give back to this ranch. After that, he’d decide...

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Murdoch Lancer sat at his desk. He placed his pencil on the stack of paperwork that gave him a black and white read of the strength of Lancer Ranch. An enormous window framed a live view of the land behind him, and it radiated excellent health. The energy spoke of success, a place well run. 

Galloping hooves, yips, and yells turned Murdoch’s mind and his chair from the figures on the page. There he was, riding in with a string of horses, wind flying through his hair. His dark-haired boy and that palomino, they were like a single being—the way Johnny had worked and trained that horse! 

Murdoch stretched and crooked his head. It appeared he’d captured some fine horseflesh, a stallion, and four mares. His youngest handled himself as if working on this land from birth, and Johnny should have been too! He stood up, proud of this lost lad. A surge of love filled his heart. He rubbed his side and shook his head in wonder. 

Johnny dismounted, closed the gate, and walked to the corral railing. As Murdoch watched, his young son’s head was down. He seemed sad, almost defeated. What was this boy thinking, and how could he help him? The wrongs of the past had pushed him off-track. He would do whatever was necessary to right those wrongs, so he could be happy.

Murdoch finished working on the ledger and turned back to the window. Johnny still leaned on the fence, deep in thought. He headed out the French doors.

“Johnny!” Murdoch greeted him with excitement. But he saw him tense as he raised his head, moving back from the railing. 

“Murdoch?” He seemed to question his father’s presence. 

“Son, what have you got here? The black stallion! He’s one we’ve tried to capture since before Pardee. How did you manage this? And alone! Good job!” He grabbed his boy’s neck and pulled him toward his chest. Johnny gave a half-smile, still with his head down.

Murdoch realized he had asked and answered his own questions, but that must have suited Johnny just fine. His shoulders relaxed some, and he moved over and leaned into the corner post of the fencing. 

“That so? He’s a beauty.” Johnny and Murdoch gazed at the stallion, who snorted and pranced along the outer railing. He was as unsettled as his dark-headed son. 

“Cip, could you move him over to the small corral, por favor? I want to work with him alone.” Johnny motioned Cipriano, the ranch’s Segundo toward the smaller structure.

“John, wait till he’s more settled.” He realized he had said the wrong thing when Johnny’s eyes went hard. It was disconcerting when his son looked at him that way. Murdoch instinctually stepped backward. With his eyes cold and unyielding, Johnny straightened, blinked, and his boy’s soft blue eyes returned.

“Murdoch, the only hope of taming that stallion is if he figures out I accept him for the wild creature he is. I need to show him I’ve brought him to a safe place. All he knows is runnin’ free. He doesn’t understand there’s anything else for him. I have to teach him. Now I’m going over there and help him settle. Otherwise, he’ll run first chance he gets.” 

Johnny gave his father a pointed glare. He headed to the lock-up, and with spurs jingling, walked to where the dark horse was running. 

The ebony stallion pranced and worried the dust of the corral. Murdoch’s mouth hung open as he watched his son stride away from him. My god, John. Did you just describe yourself?

As Cipriano moved into the space beside him, Murdoch felt his cheeks redden. And he wondered how much of the dressing down his Segundo had heard. The half-smile on his face hinted that he had been privy to enough. 

“Patron, the boy understands his horses well, does he not?” 

He needed the support of the fence and leaned heavily upon it as he observed Johnny walk right up to the agitated horse. The stallion reared, and Murdoch started toward them. But Cipriano stopped him with a gentle, “Patron, wait.”

Johnny slowed his stride as he approached the nervous animal. The stallion ceased the prancing and snorting when he stopped his advance. All became quiet except for the movement of the mares in the next containment. 

Liquid brown eyes locked with Johnny’s. The two made a connection, ignoring everything but each other. He stretched his palm out to the creature. They broke eye contact when the black reared and stomped the ground, filling the area with dust. 

Johnny was stone-still, patient to reconnect. The skittish animal lapped the small space, rushed to return, skidding to a stop within a foot of where he stood. Turning and slinging his head from side to side; he gave a loud snort and darted a half-lap around the distance as if to show it was his choice. Performing a quick turn and charging, he stopped, seeming to assess whether this was friend or foe. 

Johnny beckoned to him. With a cautious movement, the horse came to the outstretched fingers that encouraged him. Perhaps he realized they offered him more. 

He paused and searched the area around Johnny, who opened his fist to offer him a new thing; another slow step placed, and then another. Soon, his nose brushed the open hand. 

Gentle fingers stroked and reassured him. The horse came closer and nuzzled Johnny’s side and his chest. As he petted him, Johnny talked, and with soft sounds soothed the stallion’s fears. Rubbing his dark neck, he stroked the scars, gently fingered the raw places on his hide, and comforted him. A slow process, but they remained close and formed a bond. 

Later, he stepped away. The stallion butted him and followed as he left. Laughing, Johnny patted the horse once more, and they walked together to the gate. He fastened the lock and went toward Murdoch and Cipriano. 

The horse called to him with a low whinny. Johnny turned and went backward for a few steps. “I’ll see you, mañana.” He yelled.

The stallion threw his head up, rounded, and kicked out his hooves. He stilled his antics and faced back to watch Johnny. There was a longing in the horse’s eyes; it almost looked like hope.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Scott Lancer rode under the Ranch’s Lancer arch. He felt his heart quicken while watching Johnny stride from the corral toward his father. It still seemed strange to think of it, having a brother and a father, a proper family. 

He’d lived all his life in Boston with his Grandfather, having all the luxuries a young man could desire. Other than the war, his life had been good, but something had always been missing. Grandfather had been kind. But there was an essential element absent from the relationship. 

Scott sometimes felt like a pawn in the chess games they played. It was as if Grandfather planned each move of his life—that his existence served someone else’s purpose. Whether working as part of his Grandfather’s business or serving as his heir, he wasn’t sure. 

His mother died giving birth to him. Scott sometimes thought his Grandfather blamed Murdoch for her death. It had crossed his mind that he’d kept him in Boston to punish his father. 

Whatever purpose Grandfather had in mind for him, there was no satisfaction with the life he’d led. When Murdoch sent for him, it was like being asked to breathe anew after being shut in a closed space. 

By heading to Lancer Ranch, he answered his life’s calling. And even though he had never been there before, a homing instinct awakened in him. He was traveling to where he belonged. 

As he took in the scene below, he knew it again, that sense of belonging. He wished his brother could feel it too. Scott determined to help Johnny come to terms with his past, ensuring he’d stay and call Lancer, the place he was born, home.

As he rode up beside them, Scott saw Murdoch’s arm reach toward Johnny, grab him, and pat him on the back. 

“Where did you learn to handle a horse like that, son?” 

Cipriano grinned from ear to ear. Scott had never seen their Segundo even smile before. 

Teresa ran from the edge of her garden, “Johnny! How did you do that?” 

Johnny lowered his head, and Scott saw he hated all the attention. Wondering what the fuss was about, he hopped off his mount and walked over to see.

“Johnny, what did you do while I was out working all morning?” Scott wondered if teasing was a natural part of being a brother.

Johnny’s shy grin lit up his face. “I’ve been busy too, Boston. See these mares and that black stallion over there.” Johnny nodded at the beautiful horse. 

Scott walked with Johnny to the corral and let out a low, appreciative whistle. He slow-punched him on the shoulder. “Brother, I’m impressed! You surely earned your lunch.”

Murdoch grabbed both his boys by the shoulders and physically moved them in the hacienda's direction. He chuckled in his big booming voice. “Speaking of eating, let’s shed some of this dust and have a drink while Maria gets it our meal ready.” 

He slapped Johnny’s back a couple more times as they headed toward the outdoor wash area. Afterward, they entered the coolness of the hacienda. 

Sipping smooth bourbon from Murdoch’s private stash, Scott tipped his head and glass toward Johnny. “And here’s to your morning, brother.” Everyone celebrated except the man whose success they toasted. 

“Thanks, Scott.” He killed his drink and stared at the floor. Johnny started moving. He fiddled with books on the shelves, paced around the room, and finally landed in a chair, only to bounce up a few minutes later, rubbing his hands on his pants. He picked up first one item, then another, tossed each from hand-to-hand, put it down, moved to another object, and repeated the process.

“Sit, Brother.” Scott patted the space beside him. What might it take for him to relax and feel at ease in his family’s company, he wondered. He nudged his brother’s shoulder, and a half-smile showed, albeit one that didn’t reach Johnny’s eyes. 

When Maria called for them to eat, Scott rubbed his back, an offer of comfort. And to lighten his mood, he jostled him on their way to the kitchen.

When directly questioned, Johnny answered with a single word or nod. Otherwise, he refrained from participating in the lively discussion that filled the mealtime. 

“Something wrong with your steak, Son?” Murdoch pointed to the plate that received too little attention.

Scott noticed how quiet he remained and tried to engage him in a dialogue about the horse. “When are you putting a saddle on that stallion?”

“Not till he settles some.”

“John, everything alright?” Murdoch sounded worried. 

Johnny appeared almost startled. “Yeah. Fine.” 

Scott stared at Johnny, hoping to discern some clue, some reason for his quiet demeanor. He wasn’t by nature talkative, but today, he seemed down, depressed even. Glancing at Murdoch, he could tell there was concern in his father’s eyes. A scraping noise signaled a chair moving back on the tiled kitchen floor. 

As Johnny rose, Maria ran to him. He made excuses to leave, and she tried to force more food on him. He pushed the air with both palms. “Mamacita, no, no more. I promise to eat more tonight.” And as he backed away from the table, he excused his departure. “I need to finish the fence in the north pasture so I can work with the horses early tomorrow.” 

Murdoch nodded. “See you at dinner, son.”

A hush fell over the room after he left. The place transformed, the atmosphere seemed depressed and empty without his brother’s presence. If he only realized how everybody cared about him.

His father looked bereft, as though he’d lost a precious thing. He cleared his throat; he hesitantly glanced at the space where his youngest should be before making his request known. “Scott, please would you meet me in the great-room after lunch?” Not waiting for a response, he withdrew while the others finished their meal.

“You wanted to see me?” Sitting on the edge of the enormous desk, he watched his father stare out of the massive window, not seeming to be aware of the ranch’s comings and goings. 

Murdoch turned his chair and came to his full height. He stepped to the fireplace and tapped his pipe against the stone of the hearth. “Scott, something’s troubling your brother. Do you have any idea what’s bothering him?” 

Scott took a deep breath, “No, Sir, I wish I was privy to what the problem might be.”

Murdoch chuckled. “He keeps his cards close to the vest, so to speak....”

“I’d ask him outright. But I’ve never found direct inquiry to be beneficial when trying to get information from Johnny.” Scott moved nearer the fireplace, to tighten the distance between him and his father.

“I know, but I’m concerned. Johnny’s not eating, doesn’t appear to be sleeping much—he’s not dealing well with something. Whatever’s disturbing him is affecting his mental and physical health.” 

Taking out his tobacco pouch, Murdoch eyed Scott as he filled his pipe. “I may be wrong, but I sense he needs to talk this out, get whatever is bothering him off his chest.” He raised an eyebrow and continued louder still. “You think I’m wrong, tell me, but we need to encourage Johnny to discuss whatever is troubling him.” 

“And how do you propose we do that? You know how difficult it is to get Johnny to open up about anything.” Scott was more than a little guilty discussing his brother with Murdoch. Still, if his health was suffering, someone had to do something.

“I had hoped you might have some insight into that. You two have formed a bond of sorts.” Murdoch lit his pipe, and the more frustrated he got, the harder he puffed.

Scott stood up and pressed both hands to his temples. He felt the start of a headache. “Sir, there is a strong connection between us, but that does not mean he confides everything in me.” He then laced his fingers behind his neck and looked at his father. Thinking for a minute, “Assume we go elsewhere together, the three of us, a hunting trip or a week to fish. Perhaps in an informal setting, Johnny will free up a bit.” 

Murdoch rubbed his chin. “I suppose we have nothing to lose but time off from the ranch, and perhaps good sipping whiskey. All well worth it, if your brother will unburden himself.” 

Murdoch eased into the chair beside the fireplace and sat back. Scott noticed the smoke from the pipe drifted up in slow, even puffs now. 

Scott asked, “So, you want to try getting away for a few days?”

“Let’s talk with him tonight, see if he’s interested. I think he’ll want to finish with those horses first. We will organize the ranch duties to free up time” He stood and grabbed Scott’s shoulder and squeezed him fondly. “Great idea, son. We’ll hope it works.”

Maria fixed Johnny’s favorite Mexican dishes for dinner that evening. But he wasn’t hungry. Still, making a good show of tasting each item set before him, he told her how excellent each bite was, and she seemed mollified. Scott noticed his brother remained quiet, spending more of his meal cutting food and pushing it from side to side on his plate than eating. 

“Scott, John, I have a proposal for the two of you. I’d prefer to discuss it right after supper.” Murdoch broke an awkward silence with the announcement. Johnny stared at Scott, seeming to want a clue, but he offered none. 

Scott gave a polite, “Certainly, Sir,” as he finished his cake. 

Johnny sounded uncomfortable, but nodded and answered in a low voice. “Sure, Murdoch.”

So it was that the brothers sat before Murdoch’s desk, waiting for him to get a list of supplies from Cipriano. Johnny’s fingers were tapping; his boots were dancing in place. Scott eyed him sideways and wondered if any part of his brother’s body was not moving. 

As Murdoch walked into the room, Johnny bounced up. He spoke before his father could catch his breath. “What’s this proposition you got for us?” 

With Murdoch’s affable grin, Johnny relaxed some, and his father nodded to the armchair. “Sit down, son. Let me tell you what I have in mind.” He ambled forward, took a seat behind his desk. And straightening the stacks of paper, he proceeded. “I’ve been thinking about taking time away from the ranch, a retreat, perhaps a week to relax. I was counting on you two to join me.” 

Johnny appeared troubled, but Murdoch continued. “It would be an excuse for the Lancers to know each other better, rest some, even make plans for Lancer Ranch. It’s something we should do together.” 

Murdoch was right about Johnny. He immediately was back on his feet, “I was planning to break those horses. I just got started with the black and, well, if I wait...” 

“John, I understand, we do not have to go tomorrow. I thought we could hold off two weeks. That would allow you to work with the mares and stallion and give me a chance to organize things here, clear us up to be elsewhere. What say you work on the horses for a few days? I’ll free you up from some of your fencing and other responsibilities. Scott can help you some too.” Murdoch further explained. 

Johnny started protesting. “Woah now, I intend to carry my weight around here. I don’t want anyone doin’ my job for me.” 

Scott grinned, “Likewise.”

Murdoch held up a single hand, “Johnny. Your talent for working with horses is rare and exceptional. Work to your strengths. Use them to benefit the ranch.” Johnny’s face displayed pleasure at Murdoch’s praise, yet he looked down as his father continued. “You own a third of this estancia. We can hire men to do fencing. But believe me, training horses, you will carry your weight. And Scott, you help your brother. You’ll earn your pay.” 

Scott smiled. “I must have missed something special when you got in the corral with that black stallion. That’s all Cip, and the boys talked about this afternoon.” 

“It WAS special.” Murdoch was almost glowing as he told Scott about the event. “He took that dark, wild horse and had him trying to follow him right into the hacienda just by; I don’t know... how DID you do it, John?” 

Johnny had his head down, and he gave a shy grin. “Oh Murdoch, I guess I um...well, I let him realize I cared about him. I showed him he could trust me and convinced him nothing would hurt him, that I accepted him, scars and all, and I suppose he returned the favor.” 

Murdoch shook his head in bewilderment, thinking how talented Johnny was. Scott, too, appeared to be in awe of his brother’s abilities. He had such instinct, understanding, and compassion. And it was a wonder that Johnny survived the obstacles life had thrown at him. He had become a formidable and successful gunfighter. Yet he could still harbor the tenderness and sweetness that he observed daily. 

Reaching out, Murdoch patted Johnny’s back, then returned them to the point of discussion. “Boys, about the retreat, are we in agreement on our date? Leave on Monday and return on Friday? We can use the old Garland cabin. It’s about half day’s ride beyond Black Mesa. Real pretty country up there. The place has everything we need, a lake full of fish, excellent game, shelter. What do you say?” 

Scott nodded an affirmative and grinned at his father, who was as excited as a kid with a peppermint stick. 

Johnny must have felt he had no choice but to agree to the outing as he responded, “Sure, why not”.

Murdoch slapped his knees. “Then it’s settled! I’ll organize things here and start making our plans.” He held up twin fingers, “Gentlemen, two weeks!”

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

The next days were busy for Scott and everyone at Lancer. Murdoch worked with Cipriano to create an organized a week of work for the time the Lancer men were away. Johnny trained his horses. He broke the mares one by one, and Scott helped as much as his sore muscles would allow. 

Johnny handled the stallion by himself. He talked, petted, groomed, and taught the animal simple ways to obey. Amazed by his skill, family and vaqueros alike came daily to witness Johnny’s progress as he trained the horse. 

The black stallion waited for Johnny each morning. The once wild animal ran back and forth before the corral gate, eager for his new companion to greet him. It was time to introduce him to Walt, one of the ranch’s top hands. The horse needed to become comfortable around others so they might feed and care for him during his absence.

“Easy, Walt. Ease up. Talk to him. Reassure him. Rub him real gentle-like.” Johnny worked with Walt and the horse for two days to get them acquainted. Scott and Murdoch watched as he used his expertise to teach both horse and man. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Unfortunately, they were not the only observers. Right inside the tree line, three riders looked down on the vista below. Handing back the spyglass, a rider with dirty blond hair spat on the ground. “You positive he’s the one?”

“He’s growed up some, but I checked around. That’s him, all right. Johnny Madrid in the flesh.” Gray Hayes assured his paid companions.

“You certain you wanna go up against him? THE Johnny Madrid?” Questioned Joe Pierce as he glanced over at his brother.

“Nobody said anything ’bout going up against Madrid.” Joe looked back at Wade and wondered if there was a way to back out of the deal.

“Madrid will die. Leave that to me. But we won’t be calling him out. Now, all we gotta do is follow him away from this ranch. Then I will do the deed.” Hayes eyed both brothers, making sure they understood.

“Use your long gun. If you ain’t gonna face Madrid square, just shoot and run, Gray.” Joe was pushing to have this thing done. They could take their money and be enjoying a cold beer and a soft woman by nightfall.

“NO! I’m planning to shoot that boy in the gut and be there to hear him beg. You understand me? I’ll laugh at him while he begs!” Hayes looked funny around the eyes, kinda crazy-like. He was scary enough that neither of them wanted to cross him.

“Simmer down. We heard you. You’re paying, we’ll do it how you say, ain’t that so, Joe?” Wade’s voice was shaky as he tried to calm the man down.

“Right as rain. Just thinking we might not want to waste time when we could shoot him right here and now. You know, get the job done easy-like. Wade’s right though, you’re the fellow with the cash.” He thought his plan would save a lot of time and effort, but whatever.

“You don’t mind me asking, why you got it in for him so bad? What do you want to do all this gut shootin’ for and all that?” Joe asked. He wasn’t sure he’d signed up for exactly what Gray Hayes had in mind.

“Never mind all that. You make sure I have my chance to do what I said. Then you and Wade will earn your money. Now, we watch Madrid till we get him out on his own. Off by hisself, it will be easy to take him. Shoot to wing him, and then we get him where I can have my revenge. I mean it. No sleepin’ on the job.” Hayes brought his horse back into the trees. He sent a hard gaze toward his hired men that made Joe question once again whether he and his brother should have taken this task.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

The day to leave finally came. Johnny was up early after he’d tossed and turned most of the night. He headed out to the barn to check on the stallion. It gave him the means to use up some nervous energy before breakfast. 

Johnny had felt uneasy all morning. Maybe it was no sleep and being worried about the trip. He tried to ignore it—no way to shake that twinge. Something terrible always took place when he had that shiver. Guess he knew what the ‘something’ was. If he revealed his past to Scott and Murdoch, they’d tell him to hit the road. That must be what had him out of sorts. 

Running a hand over the black horse once more and patting him real soft-like, he figured it might be the last time. But he took a deep breath, left the barn, and headed to the hacienda. Whatever happened, he’d face it. It’s what he always did. 

The familiar smells of a Lancer breakfast engulfed his senses as he entered the kitchen. Pots and pans rattled, and contents were expertly transported from heat to plate. Conversation and laughter, he took it all in and stored it up like treasures. 

Scott caught his attention. “Come on in, Brother, grab a plate.” Pouring a cup of coffee, he handed it to him. Johnny cherished the gesture. For an instant, he let his eyes meet Scott’s blue-gray gaze. Then he ducked his head and moved to take the dish of eggs, ham, and fried potatoes from the sideboard. 

“Looks good.” Sliding in next to Scott, Johnny thought it looked delicious, but where in Hell was his appetite? “Murdoch, Barranca and I can go on ahead and clean up the cabin. You and Scott can bring the supplies. It’ll take at least an hour longer in the wagon. I’ll have everything ready for loading in by the time you make it up there.”

“Sounds great to me, Son.” Murdoch agreed. “Scott, you prefer to help your brother or ride with me?” 

“I asked Asa to put new shoes on my horse while we’re gone.” Scott seemed to consider what might be best as he spoke. “I assumed I’d go in the wagon. I will take another horse, Johnny, if you want help to get the place ready.”

“Naw. Shouldn’t be too much to do, sweep out the place, and gather some firewood and water. Anything else comes up, you two will be right behind me.” Johnny needed to be alone and hoped Scott would come with Murdoch.

“Well, Gentlemen, as soon as we finish breakfast, we should be ready to ride. Scott, if you and John want to do some hunting while we are up there, throw in a couple of the Sharpes. There’s plenty of game up there this time of year.”

“Just two, Murdoch? Aren’t you huntin’ with us?” Johnny looked back over his shoulder. He headed to the great room to retrieve the .44 caliber rifles.

Murdoch followed him and grinned. “I’m taking the Hawken. It’s already packed, son.”

“You are loaded for bear.” Johnny grinned and wished it could always be this way. Maybe it would be. There that twinge was again. Well, time would tell. This longing, this feeling of dread, he HAD to get this over with. He couldn’t take this not knowing much longer. He already loved these people, this life. And he didn’t know how to let it go if they couldn’t accept his past. He had nothing to live for outside of this new life his father had offered him. Finding a reason to get up each day would not just be hard; it might be impossible.

“John.” 

“Yeah.” Taking the rifles his father handed him, he and Scott carried them and ammunition to the wagon. Johnny mounted the waiting Barranca. Lifting his hat, he looked at his brother. “See you at the cabin.” and took off toward the Lancer Arch. 

Murdoch and Scott waited for Maria and Teresa to pack extra food. They wanted the men to have plenty in case the hunting and fishing didn’t play out. 

Johnny was glad his excuse to ride ahead and clean up would give him time alone.—Time to think before his family arrived. How could he explain his life and then prepare himself for the worst should they tell him to leave? 

When he reached the top of the hill, he shifted to face the hacienda. He was thinking this could be the last day he ever gazed upon the place, knowing it was his home. The scene blurred before him. He shook his head and turned his back on it. 

Galloping off, he put it behind him and focused on setting a lively pace. He needed to concentrate on the task before him. As he rode, Johnny Madrid Lancer said a silent prayer. It was not something he did often. But today, he prayed for mercy, forgiveness, and the unconditional love he’d read of and learned about in church when he was a boy. And finally, he prayed to never return to his former way of life. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

They hadn’t gone to sleep on the job. “Wade, look, there he goes! Madrid is headed out. Get Hayes! We gotta follow him.” 

Wade hurried off to the crop of rocks a little way from their perch. There he found Hayes poking at a lizard with a stick. “Boss, Boss, get your horse! It’s Madrid; he’s headin’ out, by hisself. You better come quick if you wanna get him. We’re saddled and ready.”

Hayes was up and ready to go. “Okay, okay. Which way’s he headed?”

“North.” 

“You know the plan.” 

“Right. Shoot to wound, not kill.” 

“Now, keep him in your sight. Let him get out of earshot of the ranch house and work crews. If he joins a crew, we need to lure him away. Take this slow, no messin’ up.” Hayes was so excited he was almost drooling. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Johnny headed out at a good clip. His mind preoccupied with what might happen, and he ignored the signs; didn’t notice the birds weren’t singing. The pebble that rolled down the steep hill above him did not click in his mind as a warning signal. Barranca was skittish, picking up the scent of other horses. But he was in such turmoil, he rode on and overlooked his mount’s nervous gait. 

He was in sight of the cabin when a bullet burned across his belly and through his left side. It knocked him from the saddle, but Johnny’s gun still cleared his holster before hitting the ground. If it had not been for the rock his head landed on; events would have gone another way. The flash of pain was brief, over in an instant. All went silent and black. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

The three riders galloped up and jumped down. The palomino reared, shied away, and dashed off as the strangers tried to grab his reins. Barranca pounded down the road, back the same way he’d come. “Stop him! Get that horse!” Hayes yelled. Wade ran after Barranca on foot for a few yards, then returned for his mount. 

“Get that animal before he gets away! We’ll take Madrid to the cabin yonder.” Hayes gestured toward the building in the distance. Then he and Joe began manhandling Johnny’s unresponsive body to get him upright. “Joe, get him on your horse! Hurry, do you want to get caught out here with a wounded Madrid?”

Joe was struggling with an unconscious Johnny, trying to pull him on the horse. “Hayes, I ain’t sure this boy’s breathing.”

“Woah, lay him down. He’d better be breathin’. I told you! You weren’t to kill him. The whole point of this is for him to suffer and beg. Now let me see him.” Hayes elbowed his way to Johnny’s side and looked at him. “Breathe, damn you!” Placing his ear to Johnny’s nose, Hayes could detect small breaths. “Lucky for you, he’s alive. If you want to live, he’d better stay alive. Get him up to that cabin! NOW!”

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Joe Pierce’s hands shook as he worked to steady Johnny on the horse and get him to the cabin. “Crazy eyes over there is likely to kill me if I don’t make sure Madrid lives long enough to ‘die slow’.” He mumbled under his breath, not daring to speak loud enough for anyone to hear. None of it made sense to him. But Hayes’ eyes went wild every time he talked about making the boy beg before he killed him. Crazy enough to inspire him to finish the job, get his money, and leave this country. 

Hayes rode up, helped Pierce get Johnny off the horse. He kicked the door in as they wrestled him into the log structure. They were careful with him as they placed him on a bunk. Hayes started working on the bleeding wound. Stopping the flow of blood seemed to be his first task. “Get some water and find something I can use for bandages.” Hayes pulled first one, then the other eyelid up. “Damn.” He got up and told Pierce to wrap the wound and walked outside and paced.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Murdoch and Scott were laughing at the amount of food Maria and Teresa had sent with them. “Sir, I’m uncertain that we can eat that much in a week.” 

“Son, I know Maria and Ter... Is that Barranca?” Murdoch pulled the wagon to a stop. They both jumped down. Scott ran out to quiet the panicked horse. “Careful! He’s agitated over something!” 

Scott grabbed the reins and began trying to calm the palomino down. “Easy boy, easy.” A rider came thundering over the hill. Scott looked at Murdoch, saw him grab a rifle and fire up in the air; then, he aimed at the fellow chasing Johnny’s horse. 

“Drop your weapons and dismount. Now! I want some explanations.” Murdoch’s voice was severe and unyielding.

Barranca was dancing and blowing as Scott continued to work at calming him. Tying the unsettled horse to the wagon, he saw blood on the saddle and felt his heartbeat speed up. His breathing was uneven as he rounded to confront the stranger. “Where. Is. My. Brother?”

The rider appeared startled for an instant, but he hid it quickly, “I don’t know nuthin ’bout no brother.”

“Mister, either you tell me about the man who was riding this horse or you can die right now. Start talking.” Scott headed toward the man, knowing he needed to get his anger under control.

“Okay, Okay.” Pierce had both hands up, pushing back as if to move Scott physically away from him. “I’ll tell you what I know. Please, let me ride outta here. I won’t give you no trouble.”

Murdoch walked up to the two of them. He seized the fellow roughly by the front of his shirt and dragged him up to where he was standing almost tippy-toe. 

Staring at him eye-to-eye, Murdoch growled through gritted teeth, “START TALKING.” There was no mistaking that he meant business, and if Pierce valued his life, he’d be required to turn over information and quickly. 

“Me and my brother, Joe, we hooked up with this Gray Hayes feller. He paid us to help him get Johnny Madrid off by hisself so’s he could kill him. Only he wants to do it slow. Says he wants Madrid to beg.” 

Scott saw Murdoch’s fingers tighten as he jerked the man hard. 

“W-We just nicked him. Only he hit his head or sumthin’. Joe and Hayes have him up in a cabin back a piece, and that’s all I know, honest. You gotta let me go. You are gonna let me leave, right?”

Murdoch drew back and hit the man with a roundhouse that buckled his knees. One more punch and the guy was out. Shaking out his fist and rubbing his knuckles, he made quick strides to the wagon. 

“Scott, ride Barranca, I’m right behind you. Be careful.”

“Hurry in case I need backup.” Scott mounted the dancing horse, who settled as he tightened the reins. So they rushed toward a cabin on a desperate quest to rescue Johnny.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Gray Hayes. Murdoch knew precisely who he was. The Pinkerton reports, from his search for Johnny, contained his name in a priest’s narrative. It told of the man’s brutal beating of Johnny and recounted his murdering Maria. The report continued with a story of a 16-year-old Johnny Madrid calling Hayes out. 

According to the Pinkerton, the man was a gunfighter. The encounter with a young Johnny left him with a ruined hand and bleeding from a gut wound. It appeared the man had survived and was now out to take revenge. Murdoch’s stomach contracted with fear as he slapped the reins to speed up the team. He would do whatever it took to protect his youngest son from his past, if only it wasn’t too late. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

As he came to, Johnny was first aware of the throbbing in his head and burning pain across his midsection. There was a sticky wetness on his abdomen. His nostrils filled with a coppery smell, turning his already queasy stomach sour. Or was it his throbbing head that turned him inside out? 

He took a chance and opened his eyes. The light was dim. But the face that loomed over him had to be a ghost. Or had he died and gone to Hell? It must have been his suffering or the shock of seeing that face from the past. But his belly chose that moment to spew its contents out. The act caught him and the ‘ghost’ by surprise. Twisting to his side, Johnny spluttered and coughed until he emptied himself.

“Damn you!” Hayes jumped back. 

As Johnny hung over the bunk, still heaving, Hayes reared back and kicked him hard in the abdomen. “I’ll teach you to scatter your guts onto me; you’ll wish you’d never been born when I’m through with you, boy.” 

Hayes could have saved his breath. Unaware of any insults hurled his way, Johnny’s body draped half on, half off the bed. 

“Shit. Joe, get in here and clean up this mess.” Hayes hollered and began jerking Johnny’s body by the belt to get him back on the bed. 

Taking a bucket, he used the water pump to fill it, then threw it over the bed and Johnny’s body. Getting a moan and a slight movement, he filled it again and repeated the action—still little response. 

Joe scurried around, cleaning the mess with water and a broom when Hays jerked him by the arm over toward the bed. “Get him up. I want him woke up right now. Put him in that chair.” 

“Whatever you say, boss.” Joe tugged and pulled the wet and bloody body to the chair and tried to get him to stay in a sitting posture. “He ain’t gonna stay upright. You want me to tie him?”

“Yeah, you fix him, so he’s sittin’ up. We’re gonna get him woke up. Then I’ll have me a little well-deserved revenge.” 

Joe yanked and twisted to get the ropes in place until Johnny was finally ‘sitting’ up. Hayes grabbed up another full bucket of water and threw it over Johnny’s trussed up body. Then he waited for a response from his captive.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Johnny groaned and tried to raise his head. He couldn’t make sense of why he was in this miserable shape. The pain seemed to radiate from everywhere. He was cold and wet. Nausea rolled through him in waves and death would be a sweet relief. 

“Dios.” There was that evil ghost face again, swimming before him in this sea of Hell where he’d found himself. 

“Well, the great Johnny Madrid is awake! You ready to play our little game? We’re gonna have a good time, boy. And you’ll beg me for yer life. Before this day’s over, you’ll be beggin’ me to please help you.”

“Naw.” Johnny didn’t know if he could find more words, but he ground out, “I don’t—think so.” Then he recovered enough wind to sound like Madrid. “You do your worst, Hayes. Do it now.” 

Johnny’s voice was rough, but he looked Hayes in the eye like Madrid was the one in charge. Then Johnny rolled his head around and grinned like he welcomed whatever was coming next. Determined to show no pain, he pretended that he didn’t have a care in the world.

Whack! Hayes backhanded Johnny, then kicked the chair hard, and it danced on two legs. Joe rushed to steady the chair and then backed off in fear. “You son of a bitch, beg!” Hayes was breathing hard. “Beg me not to kill you. Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you in the gut and let you bleed like you did me. I want to hear you beg me! See how this feels for starters!”

Hayes backed up. He drew his gun left-handed. But just as he fired, the cabin door burst open, and in a rush of movement, someone flew in front of Johnny. His perfect brother took the bullet meant for him. 

“No! No! Scott! No!” Johnny watched horrified as Scott landed at his feet. He was deathly still. Then, looking at his tormentor, he knew genuine despair. “Okay, I’ll beg. Kill me. Any way you want, kill me. Do your worst. Do it!” He could hardly breathe. Tears ran down his face, and all he wanted was for Hayes to hurry and squeeze the trigger. 

Then his father stepped in the door’s opening. Sunlight was shining behind him. To Johnny, he looked like a heavenly body showered in gold, and as he watched, his father turned on Hayes—good on evil. 

Murdoch’s bullet cut Hayes down and finished his evil life. Then Johnny saw the other man pointing his gun at his father. “Murdoch!” He fired again, and before the man fully crumpled to the floor, his father was there to help him.

“Dios, Scott, he’s dead. It’s all my f-fault.” 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Murdoch went to Scott’s side. Checking the pulse in his neck and wiping blood from his head, he nodded. “John, he’s okay. Son, calm down. It’s a graze. Not deep at all. His pulse is strong. Here, let me get you untied. Then we will take care of him together.”

“N-No, he’s dead. I saw, h-he shot h-him in the h-head. It’s my f-fault. Scott d-died saving me. Oh, D-Dios, Murdoch.” 

“Calm down, Son. Easy now. Your brother will be fine. We’ll make sure. I’ll get you out of these ropes, over to a dry bunk, and out of these wet clothes. Easy now.” Murdoch moved Johnny to a dry cot, struggling with him the whole way. Noting his injuries as they walked, plus his body heat showed the start of a fever, and there was a bloody bandage needing changing. He had already noticed the unevenness of the pupils of his eyes. 

Not in good shape either physically or mentally, Johnny still believed his brother was dead. Until Murdoch got Scott awake, changing that was not likely. “John, look at me. Everything will be fine. Scott is alive and well. Son, did you hear me? Lie still while I get Scott taken care of.”

Johnny’s eyes followed every move Murdoch made. He wiped Scott’s face and moved him from the floor to a cot close to Johnny. 

Scott mumbled, “Johnny, where’s Johnny? Is he alive?”

“He’s fine, Scott” Murdoch folded a cold, damp cloth and placed it over Scott’s forehead and then turned to Johnny.

“John, I need to change this filthy bandage.” 

Johnny was shaking. “D-Don’t bother. Y-You don’t k-know the things I’ve d-done, what I’ve b-been. This is all my fault. Let m-me die. You’ll b-be b-better off.”

“Listen to me. I know about your past from the Pinkerton’s, but even if I didn’t, son, my love for you is unconditional. Don’t worry anymore. It’s all in the past, all forgiven and forgotten. Now let me take care of you.” Murdoch began unwrapping the soiled wet bandage. He cringed at the bruising and bloody mess. Johnny looked at him like he had grown two heads.

“You f-forgive m-me? All the stuff I’ve d-done?”

“Yes, Son. I forgive you. Now John, don’t move. I’ll get something to sterilize this.” Murdoch moved around to check on Scott, who was still out. Glancing again at Johnny, who had settled some, he started tearing strips of cloth. There was so much to do.

He dragged the two dead bodies out of the cabin first. Once outside, he wrapped them with the tarp they’d used to cover the supplies. He hoped that would deter animals until he could bury them. He went to the wagon to retrieve bourbon, bandages, and blankets. Thinking of other needs, he grabbed the food and Teresa’s medicinal herbs and went back into the cabin.

Scott mumbled and moved some. Murdoch placed another cool cloth on his forehead and attempted to awaken him. “Scott, Son, are you okay?” He nodded but seemed to want to stay still. Murdoch pulled the cots close together and placed a chair between them. 

He filled a tin cup and the basin with cold water and carried both to Johnny to cool down his fever. Murdoch brought the drink to his lips. “Son, you need liquids. I’m afraid to give you anything for pain. I think you have a concussion.” 

“No, n-no, too-sick. Not n-now. Scott? You sure h-he’s okay?” 

“He’s resting easy. Let me get you fixed up here, and we’ll try to get him up.” 

Johnny was still shaking. Murdoch knew that it was partly from fever. He also thought Johnny was experiencing some shock with other factors working against him. He hadn’t been eating or sleeping well for a while, and he sensed his emotional state had been in turmoil. “Son, you have a fever. You need fluids.”

“M-Murdoch, check Scott. I’m f-fine.” Johnny was still worried. Until he talked to his brother and knew he’d be okay, he couldn’t rest. 

“You’re a good f-father.” Johnny put a shaky hand on his father’s shoulder. “Murdoch, thank you.”

Murdoch rubbed his head. “Son, I wish I’d always been available to be a good father to you.” 

Moaning from the bunk next to them interrupted their moment. Johnny sat up, but his father pushed him back down. “Easy. Stay right there.” Shifting over to Scott. Murdoch tried to help Scott deal with his return to consciousness.

“Oh, my head.” Scott started up and held his head as the room started spinning. “Johnny! Where’s Johnny?”

“Right h-here, Scott.”

“Oh, thank God. You’re alright. I thought he was going to kill you!” Scott shuddered as he thought about the moment he had soared in front of him. 

“B-Boston! D-Don’t ever, I m-mean ever d-do that again! You almost g-got yourself killed. Takin’ a b-bullet meant for me! I’m n-not worth it! I mean it!” Johnny was shivering so hard he could barely speak.

“John Lancer, you let me be the judge of that.” Scott held onto his head with both hands as he gave Johnny a piercing look. “You ARE worth it. You UNDERSTAND?”

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

By late evening, Murdoch was more than tired. He shifted back to Johnny, who seemed to have finally lost consciousness. He wished there were two of him. Scott moved to a sitting position. Murdoch had wrung out the cloth and placed it on Johnny’s head for the umpteenth time. The fever remained, but not high.

“Son, you better lie back. Here, slide close to Johnny. You can monitor him while I get the place back in order.” Murdoch added a log to the fire and refreshed the water pail. He found the meal basket, picked out items to turn into a soup, a meal the boys should tolerate.

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Scott slid Johnny’s bunk next to him. He wet the cloth in the cold water, squeezed the water out of it, and wiped his face. He was chilling some, but he was still warm with fever. 

“Open your eyes.” Dark lashes fluttered, but no blue eyes. “Johnny!” Scott had concerns about letting him sleep. He’d noticed the unevenness of his pupils. Rubbing his hand over his brother’s head, he found that the pump knot size was of real concern. If only Sam were here to give some expert medical advice. He lifted Johnny’s shoulders and jiggled him. Scott finally got a small response.

“Go away.” Johnny pushed back at Scott’s hands.

“Johnny, stay awake. I need you to stay with me.”

“Scott, you okay? What is it? I’m here. I won’t leave you.” His voice was weak and muddled.

Scott grinned at how literal his brother was. “That’s what I need, Brother.” Johnny tried to open his eyes. 

Murdoch returned with more blankets. “This will warm you up.” He tucked a periwinkle blue blanket around him and reached for more water. “I have soup heating up on the stove. I hope you both can eat at least some. How’s he doing?”

Scooting closer, Scott felt of Johnny’s forehead. “He’s still warm, but he wakes up when I prompt him. He’s not shaking like he was before.”

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Murdoch walked around the bunk to the chair he’d placed earlier and sat down. He was tired and felt he could sleep for days. “Think he can travel in the wagon by morning?”

“I think so.” Scott patted the over-stuffed mat he was sitting on. “We can put a mattress in the back of the wagon and cover him up. We have plenty of blankets. I’ll ride in back with him and make sure he stays comfortable.”

“Let’s eat and try to get some sleep. If Johnny is better and his fever is down, we’ll plan to start in the morning.” Murdoch moved to the wood stove and stirred the soup. He tilted the pan to pour into two tin cups and saved the pot to eat from himself. Using a heavy cloth, he carried the containers to the chair. “Here, Son, try the soup. I’ll feed John.”

“John, you need to eat something.” Murdoch brought the tin cup of soup closer and supported Johnny’s shoulders as he moved his head from side to side. Trying to push his father back with one hand, he grabbed air with the other. He struggled to bring himself awake. “Easy, sip some of this. You need fluids and nourishment.” 

Feeling the tin at his lips, Johnny tried to sip the warm liquid. It was good, but he didn’t want to drink much and chance its reappearance. “No more. All I want.”

“Try a little more, son.”

“No, no more for now.” Johnny’s voice sounded weak, but he appeared lucid and shivered less.

Murdoch relented and set the cup down, noting that Scott finished all of his soup. He breathed a prayer of thanks that things had not turned out worse. Both of his boys could have died this day. But they were fine. He prayed John might finally find some peace and know he had a home, a family, and a father that loved him with unconditional love. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Epilogue

The black stallion ran to the corral fence, where Johnny sat talking to Scott. “He sure has missed you.” Scott nudged his brother. “Doc clear you to work with him yet?” 

“Yeah, he said, I could start back riding tomorrow. I asked Murdoch if he wanted to go up to Connor’s Lake and do some fishing. You interested?”

“I’m in.” Scott looked over at the smiling face and sparkling blue eyes and marveled at the change since that day at the cabin. He couldn’t help smiling back as he slapped him on the back. “You name that horse yet?”

“Yeah. Ace! Come over here!” Sure enough, the horse came trotting to him.

“Ace?” 

“Yep, my luck has changed since I got that stallion. He’s my lucky Ace.”

Scott burst out laughing. “Well, Johnny, I guess you’re right there. You had a concussion, got shot, beat up, almost had pneumonia. Ah, yes, your luck may have changed, but I’m not so sure it was good luck.”

“Naw, Scott. I was always dealing with stuff like that. I’m talking about what counts, knowing you have a home, family, people that care about you. Me and Murdoch talked. My luck HAS changed, and it’s for the better.”

Scott threw his arm around his brother’s neck and pulled Johnny to himself. “It’s great to hear you say so. My luck has turned too, and it’s good to be here with you, brother. I like this home and family too.” 

Johnny jumped down, and Scott watched as he started whispering to Ace. He could have sworn that horse nodded up and down and then peered at him and snorted. Then he nuzzled Johnny’s pocket for a treat. He laughed and played with the stallion a bit before handing over a carrot stick. 

{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}~{}

Back in the hacienda, Murdoch Lancer smiled as he gazed through the large window behind his desk. He watched his sons laughing and playing with a wild black horse who sure looked like he had found a home.

The End


End file.
